


Magic Fingers

by Reality 2_0 (reality_2_0)



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 01:01:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9049015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reality_2_0/pseuds/Reality%202_0
Summary: set 2010-12; (not) just a massage





	

With a sigh, she leaned forward, rested her forehead on the desk. It felt as if every muscle in her body was tightly wound, especially her shoulders were bothering her, her head hadn’t stopped pounding since almost two hours now, and she still wasn’t done preparing for the next day.

Concentrating on relaxing her muscles and banishing the pain from her mind – or at least trying to do so – she didn’t hear him enter, only noticed him when he first put a glass of water and some pain killers on the desk next to her and then his hands on her shoulders, gently rubbing them.

She startled at the unexpected touch but hummed appreciatively the next second. He could read her, her body language, the little signs she often masked like nobody else, at times knew what she needed before she even did herself.

Showing vulnerability was something she avoided at all costs. Partly by choice, but mostly forced by the circumstances of her time, by prejudices that had to be faced and overcome, by constant public scrutiny, she had trained herself to never let go off her game face in the company of others. There were few, very few exceptions to that rule. The biggest one stood behind her right now. Together, they had experienced their share of ups and downs, had supported each other, had cried together, had laughed together, had given each other strength, and continued to do so until this day. She trusted him with her soul.

Wordlessly, he massaged her shoulders for a minute, then moved on to her neck before his fingers dived into her hair, rubbing her scalp in small circles, soothing her headache a bit. She loved when he did that, loved to spend evenings with her head resting on his lap. She relished the closeness, the comfort even when both of them had their noses in different files and were concerned about matters of world politics. What to others seemed mindboggling was pretty much business as usual to them. It was just them. For them, normality consisted of discussing international crises over toast at the breakfast table and budget problems during dinner. Politics was in their blood, and as a rule, she wouldn’t want it any other way.

At the moment, though, her body protested at the pace her mind had set. It very much appreciated the treatment it got from his hands.

“Take a break, love,” he said, softly but insistently.

Lifting her head, she looked up at him, could see worry plainly on his face. “Can’t just yet,” she replied, equally quiet.

She must have looked even more exhausted and sick than she felt, because his worried expression intensified. However, he also knew the responsibilities that came with the job.

“Take one of these,” he pointed at the painkillers. “And if you aren’t in the bathtub in an hour, I’ll drag you away from the desk. I don’t care if I have to carry you.” His tone didn’t leave any doubt that he meant business, and while she knew he was right and had good reasons for his actions, she found it frustrating to be betrayed and beaten by her own body like that. Nonetheless, she dutifully swallowed one pill.

“Good girl,” he praised her, teasingly, before leaning down to kiss her gently. “One hour,” came the reminder as he left the room again. “I’ll draw a bath for you.”

“Thank you!” she called after him. She truly was thankful that he looked after her, took care of her despite his own busy schedule.

Feeling the effect of the painkiller slowly setting in, she glanced at the time and got back to the files, aware that she was on the clock now.

A bit later, she heard the water running. A look at her cell told her, she had about fifteen minutes left until her husband would show up again and carry her off to the tub. For both their sakes, she would make sure to walk on her own as she didn’t care to explain how both of them had ended up with injuries in their own home. Knowing the press, they would declare it a domestic dispute and refuse to believe otherwise – not that the real story would make for better press. No, thank you. The file currently lying open in front of her was the last one, anyway.

And just as she closed that file, she felt him entering the room.

“Time’s up?” she asked with a smile.

“Almost, but I figured you should be done by now and wanted to make sure you didn’t start with anything else,” he admitted.

Laughing, she pushed her chair back and got up. With two steps, she was right in front of him. Putting her hands on his hips, she looked him in the eyes. “So… you promised me a bath?”

“That I did.” He smiled down at her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. “And the hot water is awaiting you.” With a quick kiss to her forehead, he wanted to turn her to the door and toward the bathroom, but she would have none of it. She grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him down for a longer, deeper kiss. His hands slid down to her hips, pressing her even closer against him while the kiss continued and became more passionate by the minute. No denying, this was her favourite form of stress relief.

In the end, it was he who broke the connection. “Bathtub,” he whispered against her lips.  
“You getting in with me?”

He shook his head. “No, I want you to soak and relax your muscles. I can see the tension.” As he spoke, he rubbed her back. “I will join you in bed afterwards, though, with a bottle of massage oil. How does that sound for a deal?”

She smiled broadly. “Heavenly.” She had no idea what she had done to deserve this treatment, but she wouldn’t question him, much less complain about it.

For a moment, she rested her head against his chest. “Thank you.”

“Never for that, love. But you’re welcome. And now, go before the water gets cold.” He turned her around and gently shoved her out of the room.

Unable to resist the chance to tease him, she pulled her shirt off as she went and threw it at him. She didn’t dare look back for then the hot water might go to waste after all.

In the bathroom, she not only found a bath prepared the way she liked it best but also a glass of red wine, some burning candles and music playing softly. She was touched beyond words, her eyes watering slightly.

Undressing completely, she stepped into the tub, let the water and foam envelop her.

She sipped some wine and let the hot water do its magic. It relieved some of the tension that had been holding her body in a tight grip since longer than she cared to remember. Spa treatments just weren’t high on her list of things to do these days.

For over half an hour, she leaned back, closed her eyes, listened to the music, let it carry her away – relaxed, until the feeling of her skin wrinkling became too uncomfortable.

She got out of the water, towelling herself dry while draining the tub. Afterwards, she didn’t bother with any pyjamas, simply slipped into a bathrobe and walked to the bedroom. Although the tension in her body had diminished, she was looking forward to the massage she had been promised. It was no secret that she adored his hands, loved to watch them talk, hold a pen, handle paper or a golf club, loved their elegance and strength, but most of all, she loved to feel them – his hand in hers, on her shoulder, her back, just the weight through her clothes, the touch on her skin, it didn’t matter. But whereas he had an apparent compulsion to put his hand on her whenever she was standing near him, a lengthy massage was a rare occurrence, especially nowadays when they spent more time apart than they were together at the same place. A fact that made tonight even more special.

In the bedroom, the sight of him sitting on the bed in pyjamas with a book, just turning a page, a bottle of massage oil on the nightstand next to him, greeted her. Her heartbeat increased at seeing him like this. It didn’t matter that she had seen him in a similar position more often than she could count; he always had this effect on her. She considered herself blessed in this regard. How many people could truthfully claim to still be in love with their partner after four decades together? Most couples didn’t even make it to this point anymore. Sure, they had had to fight, fight hard at times to make it this far, but they managed to win the battles together and keep their love for each other alive in the process. Not a small feat, one she was quite proud of despite the criticism she had received for staying with her husband. She didn’t care much for those comments, didn’t like to defend a decision that was essentially a very private one. Love should never be judged. There was no way to explain how much this man, in spite of some flaws and because of others, rocked her world to this very day.

Having spotted her leaning against the doorframe, he closed the book and put it aside as he looked at her adoringly, making her feel as if she was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.

For a moment, they both remained quiet. Their gazes, though, had a lot to tell each other. Eventually, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, raised an eyebrow and then crooked a finger at her, beckoning her closer.

Not taking her eyes off him, she untied the belt, pushed away from the doorframe and let the robe drop to the floor as she bridged the short distance between the door and the bed.

Wrapping his arms around her waist, he let himself fall back, taking her with him so she came to lie on top of him on the bed, tickling her lightly. She couldn’t help laugh at his antics.

One of his hands moved up her back, into her hair, guiding her head down within kissing distance. At first, he pressed short, playful kisses onto her lips, nibbled at them, teased them with the tip of tongue before deepening the kiss. He took his time kissing her, and she let him, didn’t resist, didn’t push for more. For once, she was happy to lean back, to simply enjoy his attention, to be loved, to be worshipped by him.

At some point, he rolled them over, positioning her under him while prolonging the kiss that was tender yet passionate, slow and deep. She moaned at his ministrations, pushed her hips up against his, unable to remain still any longer. Although she could feel his member harden, harden further actually, he pulled back – much to her disappointment.

“I promised you a massage, love, and I’ve every intention of keeping that promise. You need one. But if we don’t stop now, that’s not going to happen, and your muscles will hate you even more,” he explained.

She sighed, obviously not amused, but understanding his reasoning, she nodded and stole one last kiss before he climbed off of her and told her to turn over onto her stomach.

She didn’t have to wait long for his oiled hands to make contact with her bare back. He began by stroking her, seeping more force into his touch as the minutes ticked on. He kneaded not only her back, but the shoulders, neck and arms got the same treatment before he moved down her body.

All the while, she was torn between relaxation and arousal. Although the motivation was somewhat medical, his touch lacked the complete clinical detachment that prevented the sensual side of her body to react to a professional massage.

He was a master at the game of seduction. It came natural to him, and with her, he didn’t hold back. Over the decades, he had turned his charm on her quite often, had seduced her numerous times – in the most literal as well as in figurative ways. The jealousy of many a woman who couldn’t believe that the “ugly duckling” had captured this most-desired guy had amused her, especially since it wasn’t quite clear who had captured whom here. Sure, she had cut through his BS from the very beginning, but she obviously had been unable to resist him entirely. He, in turn, had fought his own developing emotions, hadn’t been ready to get in as deep as they had pulled him. A fight he clearly hadn’t won. Both of them had gotten themselves into a relationship they hadn’t been prepared for, weren’t ready to commit to 100% – a fact that had made the ride quite interesting. And seeing now where that ride had led them, it couldn’t be denied that it had been worth it, worth all the heart- and headaches, all the discussions with family and friends, all the reasoning with and explaining to others and themselves. He had been expected to marry a Southern Belle, she to make a career in law or politics in a big city. Whereas she eventually fulfilled that expectation despite the detour generated by her marriage to him, he never got the Southern Belle he hadn’t wanted to begin with. That was now, though. Back then, things had been different.

What hadn’t been different, however, was the ability of his hands to turn her into a puddle of goo.

As expected, the treatment was painful at times, especially at the beginning, but the longer he worked on her muscles, the more knots he loosened, the more enjoyable it became. Eventually, she stopped hissing and biting her tongue, and started purring and moaning appreciatively instead.

It was almost disappointing when he stroked his hands over her back one last time and whispered the request for her to turn over into her ear. Only almost, though. For by that time, her arousal had reached new heights. Despite the relaxed state of her muscles, she was ready to jump his bones.

That didn’t align with his plan, though. At least not yet. Glaring at him, she harrumphed when he took one of her feet in his hands and started rubbing it instead of taking off his clothes and rubbing himself against her.

He only laughed. “Not done, yet, love. You’ll thank me for it later.”

Although she knew he was right, being patient wasn’t easy right now. “How about a deal?” she asked. “Your pyjamas join my robe, and I’ll let you have your way.” She arched an eyebrow.

He pretended to contemplate her offer for a moment before shaking his head. “Way too dangerous. I’m willing to meet you halfway in exchange for your cooperation for another thirty minutes.”

“Half a pyjama for half an hour?”

“Yep. Take it or leave it. Either way, I’m finishing this massage.”

Knowing that she wasn’t going to win that one, she sighed. “I take it. So take it off. You got thirty minutes. Starting now.” She made a point of looking at the clock on the nightstand.

Well aware that the clock was ticking and that he wouldn’t get even one second beyond the agreed-upon thirty minutes, he quickly pulled his pyjama top off over his head and focussed on her foot again.

Sneaky tease that she was, she couldn’t resist trying to slip the other foot near his crotch. However, he managed to capture it before it reached its destination. Instead of letting this incident distract him from his mission as he suspected was her intent, he simply glared at her. Any form of punishment would not only cost him precious time, it would also most likely lower her level of arousal which would be very counterproductive as his plan was to have her squirming on the edge of orgasm by the end of the massage. So no tickling, no ignoring her in favour of finishing the book he had been reading earlier, no debate about sticking to deals. Also, there was the fact that life would be boring if they always played by the rules in the bedroom (or other convenient locations, for that matter).

The glare got him a sheepish shrug and an anything-but guilty look from her.

For the next twenty-seven minutes, she behaved, though. Probably because she knew he was expecting her to enact another sneak attack. With him not relaxing, keeping his guard up, she got him where she had wanted him. If she couldn’t completely relax, neither should he. Albeit for different reasons, of course. The cause of her tension was his hands moving up her legs, nearing their apex but consciously avoiding it. He rather moved on to her hands. They were the opposite of his own long, slim hands. That didn’t diminish their power, their strength, though. He loved her hands – although his attachment to them paled in comparison to her obsession with his fingers – loved holding them in his, loved seeing his ring on them, loved the flourish with which she put words on paper, especially her signature, loved feeling them on his skin. With the amount of paper these hands handled on a daily basis, the amount of scrolling, typing and writing they did, he paid special attention to them, particularly the right one, before moving up the arms, caressing her shoulders and neck on the way to her ears. Devoid of the big jewellery usually adorning them, they presented an easy target. She relished having her earlobes massaged, a little too much for her own liking which he suspected played at least a tiny part in her preference for large earrings. They served as a shield. Not that anybody but him would dare randomly touch her ears, but the chance of him doing just that was bad enough. And he had to admit that he had been occasionally tempted to do that when she had been overly tense at an event. In contrast to those occasions, he could indulge himself right now.

Nearing the end of his time, he relocated his hands to her chest.

Her relationship with her body was ambivalent. While she couldn’t care less about make-up, she took care of her skin and occasionally growled at her wrinkles. Her choice of clothes reflected a good amount of self-consciousness about her body. Yes, their chosen profession traditionally forbad revealing clothes, and her style was practical – not a small factor when your life was as hectic and public as theirs – but she also opted for more fabric because she wasn’t confident in her beauty, no matter how much Oscar or other designers in the past had tried to encourage her to present herself as more feminine, to show a bit more skin. Oscar fought with her over half an inch time and again. Sometimes, he won; sometimes, she did. Although she was a lot – entirely – open with him, he himself had probably contributed to her self-image, to her tendency to hide her body by looking at and going after women with larger breasts or longer legs. He hated having done that to this strong woman he loved more than anything else in his life. Thus he made it his mission for the rest of his life to show – and tell – her how beautiful, how sexy she was to him, how much she excited him, how much he desired her for her body as well as her mind – not that there was ever any doubt about the latter.

As he was caressing her breasts in a circular motion spiralling toward her nipples, he suddenly found himself pulled down by the neck for a passionate kiss that took his breath away. Apparently, his thirty minutes were up.

When it became obvious that he wouldn’t resist, wouldn’t go anywhere, her hands moved down his back, under the waistband of his pyjama bottoms, cupping, gently kneading his behind.

“You want me to take them off,” he more stated than asked breathlessly when their lips parted an inch, his forehead resting on hers.

“Yes.” Her voice was equally affected like his and deeper than her average conversational timbre.

She pushed him away lightly.

Taking the not-at-all subtle hint, he hurried to shed the remaining piece of his nightwear, sitting on the edge of the bed, before stretching out next to her. When he reached out to touch her again, she grabbed his hand, though, laced their fingers, and pushed him on his back, straddling him in the process.

“Thank you for the massage,” she murmured as she leaned down to claim his lips with hers.

“My pleasure,” he replied.

“Oh, it will be. Eventually.” The last words before their mouths were otherwise occupied for a while – touching, sucking, nibbling, licking.

Meanwhile, their hands weren’t idle. They caressed, drew random patterns on skin, tweaked nipples, scratched or, in his case, held onto hips. Said hips rubbed against his length to illicit a reaction that became harder and harder to suppress, to control by the moment.

Touching her like he had done for the last hour always excited him. Her current ministrations furthered his arousal to the point where he almost regretted teasing her earlier for, unless she relented a bit, this might be over soon.

“Not a chance,” she breathed against his skin of his neck as if she could read his mind, then latched onto the crook of his neck, surely leaving a mark. Her hips never stopped moving, coating his erection with her wetness.

While he was trying to will his arousal into submission and distracted by her lips, she upped the ante by joining their bodies in one swift move. A mixture of both their moans filled the room upon that action.

Once she had sunken down completely, she sat upright, hands braced on this stomach, eyes closed, leaned her head back and sighed long and loudly, obviously relishing the feeling, savouring the moment she had yearned for since before the beginning of his massage.

Eventually, she opened her eyes, locking gazes with him, but didn’t move beyond leaning her head forward again. He wasn’t sure whether to be thankful for or annoyed by her motionlessness. It was typical them, though. Earlier, he had refused her wish to take things further; now that he had caught up, she echoed his action. Payback was a bitch, and since she apparently was happy with the current situation, he didn’t stand much of a chance to hurry her along.

“So, do you agree with the reviews?” she had the audacity to ask, referring to the book on his nightstand.

This woman was impossible. One of the main reasons he loved her, but right now, enough was enough. Grabbing her by the waist, he made use of his superior strength and toppled them over.

She shrieked at the unexpected motion during which he managed not to disconnect from her entirely.

“What?” she inquired innocently, obviously satisfied to see his patience was in short supply.

“Point taken,” he acknowledged.

She responded by kissing him deeply and wrapping her legs around his hips as she rolled onto her back, taking him with her. The moment, her back hit the mattress, he started moving within her at a slow but steadily increasing speed. She followed his lead, countering his pushes with ones of her own, randomly clenching her inner walls around his member.

While one of her hands had a tight grip on a buttock of his, the other rested between their bodies, rubbing her clitoris. Between the stimulation from him and her own fingers, it didn’t take her much longer to reach the peak of orgasm. He followed her over the edge soon after. 

Lying on their sides, facing each other, they both tried to catch their breath, one of his hands tracing the line from her waist to her thigh.

“Feeling more relaxed now?” he asked with a slightly smug smile.

“Was is your pleasure?” she shot back.

After a moment of silence, their gazes locked, they burst into laughter.

Still chuckling, he pulled the blanket up over their cooling bodies and her against his side as he reached over to the nightstand with to switch off the light.

“Good night?”

“Definitely. Thank you,” she said against his chest as she snuggled closer.

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> This was the last story from us this year. Thank you for all your kind feedback and kudos. We'll be back next year.  
> Happy Holidays, everybody.


End file.
